Susan's Winter
by Theophila
Summary: “The books don’t tell us what happened to Susan...but there is plenty of time for her to mend, and perhaps she will get into Aslan’s country in the end—in her own way.”


**Disclaimer**: I don't own Narnia. I do own a copy of The Complete Chronicles of Narnia. And that's good enough for me.

**Author's Note**: Well, there's not much to say, which is surprising considering that my last author's notes have been ridiculously long and hopelessly redundant. But I would like to mention that this takes place directly before The Last Battle. Please read and review, and then I'll give you a cinnamon roll.

Suggested listening:

In Like a Lion (Always Winter) – Relient K

Shadowlands – Rebecca St. James

**Susan's Winter**

By Theophila

_It was You who set all the boundaries of the earth; You made both summer and winter. Psalm 74:17_

Edmund squinted impatiently toward the direction from which the train would soon be coming. He was aware of Peter talking to him, saying something about the rings, but he was too busy trying not to cry to really listen.

Edmund blinked several times and swallowed thickly. He had known, of course, that Susan was growing apart from them, but he hadn't yet realized how cold she had become. That is, he hadn't realized until about half an hour ago, when they had called to ask if she was sure she didn't want to come and see them off.

The voice on the other end of the line had been quiet for a moment, and then the words came like sharp little shards of ice, "No. I'm quite sure, thank you. Goodbye—I'll talk to you later, assuming you don't intend to waste my time by persisting in babbling about this 'Narnia' nonsense. Honestly, it's time you grew up. Especially you, Ed! I had really thought you were beyond such childishness. Well. I do hope I see you all soon, but I must be off! There's a party at Jenny's house this evening, you know." And she had hung up.

Ed sniffed, excusing himself by muttering something about allergies. Peter seemed to have realized by now that his brother wasn't really listening to him, and had fallen into silent thought. Edmund occupied himself with his own thoughts, chiefly thoughts about Susan. What had happened? When had she become so distant, so apart, so cold? He could still remember the Gentle Queen. Why couldn't she?

Edmund remembered his second Narnian winter. It had seemed, at the time, almost worse than his first one. They had had a 100-year winter, so why not a 100-year spring? He had been cold before; he certainly did not want to be cold ever again. As he glared at the gently falling snow, he could feel himself getting angrier. The trees were dead and bare now, and most of the dryads were asleep. Just a week before, the Beavers' dam had caved in (again) because of the heavy snow. And even less than a week ago, Lucy had scared them all by getting lost in the woods. She couldn't find her way, she said, because everything looked the same: white.

And of course, winter always reminded him of the Witch. He had been able to, for the most part, forget about her during the spring and summer, and even the fall, but now hardly a day went by without Edmund feeling her cold, icy hands on his neck. Edmund could feel her presence fall with the snow, and it scared him.

Susan saw this. Edmund had always been her favorite brother, even when he hated her. And even though he didn't want her to see his fear, she could, because Ed was so like her. And because Ed was so like her, his pain hurt her, too.

"What's wrong, Ed?" asked Susan, though she knew perfectly well what was wrong. Edmund glanced up at her from where he was sitting by the window.

He momentarily considered saying, "Nothing," and brushing it off, but something in her eyes forced him to tell the truth. He sighed. "Su," he said, "look at this. No—you're not really seeing it, Su, _look!_ Do you see what I see?" He gestured at the barren, snow covered landscape outside. "I see cold. I see pain. I see death. I see _Her_." Edmund shuddered involuntarily. "Don't you see?"

Susan looked through the window, and then looked at her brother. "No, Ed," she said gently. "I see, but I do not see what you see." He frowned at her, and she smiled and put her arm around him. "Look, Ed. See what I see. I see a fresh start. I see a clean slate, a new beginning. I see hope. Can't you see it, too?" Susan hoped desperately that he would. Edmund stared blankly at her, and so she pressed on. "Don't you realize, Ed, that Aslan made winter, too?" At this her brother looked horrified, but she continued anyway. "Edmund, listen to me. Spring teaches us about new life and rebirth, but we need winter to remind us that He can make us clean, even whiter than this snow. And most of all, Edmund, winter teaches us hope. Hope for the new life coming in the spring. Hope that we don't need to be cold inside, because we have Aslan with us." Edmund was staring out the window now. Susan couldn't read his expression, but she asked anyway, "Do you see what I see now?"

There was silence for a moment. Then suddenly Edmund turned to her, with unshed tears shining bright in his eyes. "Yes, Susan," he said slowly. He smiled. "I can see."

The lesson Edmund learned that day had carried him through their 15-year reign in Narnia, and through the long, long winter of their life in England. Susan had taught him that, and he would never forget it. She might be cold now, but she hadn't always been. And though Susan's winter might last 100 years, Edmund was sure that it would not last forever.

Edmund turned, and as he turned he noticed that the train was coming round the bend, and exceptionally fast at that.

"_The books don't tell us what happened to Susan. She is left alive in this world at the end, having by then turned into a rather silly, conceited young woman. But there is plenty of time for her to mend, and perhaps she will get into Aslan's country in the end—in her own way."_

_--C. S. Lewis_


End file.
